


Stuck

by snapbackbuddies



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, Whump, connor's dad and his best friend robo jesus come to save him, really Bad and probably Inaccurate technobabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15744972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapbackbuddies/pseuds/snapbackbuddies
Summary: Connor is trapped under rubble. Hank and Markus come to save him.





	Stuck

"H- ank!" Connor cries, his voice weak and scraped raw. Tears run over his cheeks, slicking his skin and making it difficult to see through the blur of wetness in his eyes. His chest creaks under all the pressure surrounding him, the weight incredible and nearly… painful.

_ >> PRESSURE ON CHEST CAVITY EXCEEDS RECOMMENDED AMOUNT. RELIEVE PRESSURE IMMEDIATELY. CHEST COLLAPSE IMMINENT IF CONDITION CONTINUES <<_

_**STRESS LEVEL: 86%**_

"Hank, help! I– I'm stuck! I'm stuck, I–" He's gasping for air between the sobs of panic, desperate for the oxygen he doesn't need. His fingers scrabble at the concrete surrounding him, but he can't find a hold to push at, can't find a way out, he's _stuck._

_**STRESS LEVEL: 90%**_

Connor lets himself go limp, sobs wracking his body. His left leg is nothing more than a stump below the knee, slowly but steadily leaking thirium, has been for ten minutes, long as he's been trapped here. The warning stays in the corner of his vision, unable to leave the forefront of his mind. _THIRIUM LEAK_ , it reminds him, slow enough to keep him alive, fast enough to keep him at risk of death if he stays here for much longer.

At the corner of his vision, he can see the red glow of his LED spinning back at him against the rock he's trapped beneath. He shudders again and tries desperately to think, his processors already screaming in his head with how fast they're firing. He needs to get out, and Hank isn't coming for him. He– he _needs_ to lift this rock off of him, or he'll die.

Connor will die.

Connor doesn't want to die.

Desperation fires through him, and he shudders again. He converts all his remaining energy to his synthetic muscles in his shoulders. His only chance is to lift it off him. Connor pauses for a moment, breathes deep to calm himself, and curls his fingers into a tight fist.

And shoves. 

He wrenches himself and the chunk of concrete up with a scream of anguish. Tears flow fresh down his face, but he works through his stiff, nonfunctioning biocomponents and the ever-growing feeling of discomfort that feels something like pain. His optical units glitch, static filling his vision and darkness encroaching at the corners. He gasps again and chokes down another cry, and with his last bit of strength, he manages to slide out from under the rubble.

Connor throws himself on the ground beside it, curling into a ball to protect himself from any debris. Wires and his artificial veins hanging off of his left leg like entrails.

_> > PRESSURE SUCCESSFULLY RELIEVED. CONTACT CYBERLIFE IMMEDIATELY TO MAKE REPAIRS. BIOCOMPONENTS DAMAGED: 8927v, 9086– <<_

Connor dismisses the warning message. It's not important. He can't replace them now anyway.

" _Hank!_ " he shouts, trembling at the end, and crumples in closer to himself. "Hank," he says again, not quite a call this time. He can't make his voice loud enough.

_**STRESS LEVEL: 77%** _

_**REPLACE DAMAGED BIOCOMPONENTS OR SHUTDOWN WILL OCCUR IN: 01:00:00**_

An hour. He has an hour. Should be plenty of time.

Connor reaches out with his communications program into the network, searching for anyone in the area. He'd tried before, when he was trapped, but nothing was there. Again, no signal comes back. _Anyone_ , Connor sends, as strong as he can, _Anyone, please. I'm damaged and in danger of shutdown. I need help._

He waits for a moment with bated breath, but no one returns his call.

 

–– 

 

They find Connor fifteen minutes before shutdown. 

He’s shivering uncontrollably, his whole body moving with it and his hiccuping sobs. He’d moved himself to sit up against some of the rubble, but he couldn’t get any farther than that on one leg and several other damaged internal biocomponents. 

**_STRESS LEVEL: 95%_**

Things weren’t looking up. That is, until Markus rounds the corner and shouts “Connor!” and then, “Here, he’s over here! I found him!”

“Markus?” Connor asks, then struggles through a coughing fit. Blue blood spatters onto his lips and the front of his shirt. His thirium pump regulator was malfunctioning, apparently. He’s been coughing up blue blood for the past thirty minutes. He can't be sure, though. His diagnostics program wasn't functioning.

**_SHUTDOWN IN 00:14:38_**

“Holy shit, Connor,” he heard someone say behind Markus, and Connor can’t help his feeble smile. 

“Hank,” he whispers, sagging with relief. 

**_STRESS LEVEL: 80%_**

Markus falls to his knees in front of him, grabbing the side of Connor’s face with one hand and supporting his head. “Hey, Connor, look at me. What do you need?”

“M– my stress levels are at 80%,” he wheezes. My internal biocomponents are– are–“ Connor didn't realize how difficult it would be to speak. Perhaps his lungs are damaged, too. “Severely damaged,” he finally finishes, gasping.

Hank finally comes running into his line of sight. His eyes spark with relief when he sees Connor, but it quickly fades as he sees the state he’s in. “Shit, Markus, his fuckin' leg. I have some thirium in my trunk.”

_> > THIRIUM LEVELS SUBOPTIMAL. 40% BELOW RECOMMENDED VOLUME <<_

Huh. Connor hadn't realized he was running low. 

"First thing we need to do is lower his stress levels and get him some thirium. Connor's self repair programs won't function until he's at optimal levels, and his body most likely won't keep thirium down while he's this stressed." Markus sounds so collected, so composed and full of grace, it's hard to feel terribly worried anymore.

**_SHUTDOWN IN 00:13:09_**

His breath hitches. Well, maybe that can worry him.

**_STRESS LEVEL: 86%_**

Markus is still talking in the background. "Hank, you stay with him, keep him calm, and I'll run to your car and grab the blue blood and electrical tape. When I get back I'll run a full diagnostic so we can start to address other problems."

Connor must space out a little. When static clears from his vision and he can focus again, Hank his tapping the side of his face. "Stay with me, kid. How're you doing?"

"S– stress levels at 86%," he says, and his chest is tight and his voice is breaking, crackling with something mechanical. "Anything– anything above ninety a-and there is increased risk of s-self-destruction. I'm scared, Hank, I'm scared, I don't– I don't want to die, I don't want to shutdown–"

**_SHUTDOWN IN 00:11:21_**

**_STRESS LEVEL: 91%_ **

"Calm down, Connor, calm down," Hank soothes, though his voice is rough. He rubs a big, warm hand over Connor's shoulder and rubs at the tension in his neck, forcing him to relax. "Take some slow breaths for me. Deep as you can manage." Hank draws in a breath, holds it for a moment, and releases. "Just like that. Can you do it with me?" Connor nods jerkily.

Connor struggles through a few deep breaths – his lungs are definitely damaged, perhaps one is punctured, but he doesn't want to sift through his warnings right now – until Markus returns with three bags of blue blue and a roll of electrical tape in tow. His stress levels have dropped off to the low 80's once more. The time until shutdown clicks down steadily.

He passes them off to Hank. "Alright, you know what to do. I'm going to run a diagnostic."

Connor doesn't lift his arm, too tired, but he offers his palm to Markus to connect. Markus smiles faintly, and grasps Connor's hand. A shudder runs through Connor's wires and processors when Markus connects. It's not bad or good, it's just… it's just as though he can _feel_ Markus's presence. His eyelids flutter, eyes rolling up.

"Connor?" Hank's voice is distant. "Come back up, buddy. I taped off all the the leaks, wrapped up your leg. You gotta drink now."

_> > THIRIUM LEVELS STABILIZED. 45% BELOW OPTIMAL VOLUME <<_

_> > WARNING: ENERGY LEVELS NEARLY DE– <<_

_> > WARNING: REPLACE COMPONENTS 892– <<_

_> > WARNING: THIR– <<_

_> > WARNI– <<_

_> > WARNI– <<_

_> > ERrrrrrOR: SYSTEMS OVERLOADED <<_

Connor's head lolls, his breath quickening, and Markus disconnects with a sharp gasp. "Shit."

"What?" Hank barks, his grip on Connor's shoulder tightening. "What's wrong with him? Is he fuckin' okay?"

"It's worse than I thought. He's going to shut down in ten minutes, we don't have any time to waste. You need to make him drink that thirium. If we can just stabilize his thirium levels, he can enter standby mode and charge, maybe start to heal. If his condition doesn't improve we'll have to replace his regulator."

"God fucking dammit–" Hank's voice is thick, one step away from watery. "Connor? Connor, kid, c'mon. Time to take a drink." Hank grabs the side of Connor's neck, sets him upright again. Connor groans quietly, and his fingers curl into Markus's until they're holding hands. Markus squeezes back lightly.

_Connor._ Markus's voice rings in his head. _Stay calm. It's going to be okay. Let Hank give you blue blood._

Connor parts his lips, does his best to swallow the blue blood Hank pours into his mouth slowly. "Good, good boy, Connor." Connor's lips twitch upward.

After one bag is emptied, Connor tries to push away the second. He's tired. His stress levels have lowered significantly, and he just wants to go home. Slip into standby mode until Markus can take him to Jericho for spare parts. Hank shakes his head, though, tilts Connor's head back again. "No, Connor, can't be done yet. Just this one more bag."

_> > THIRIUM LEVELS 20% BELOW OPTIMAL <<_

Connor whines. "Hank," he protests, his voice rasping. "Please, I just wanna go home."

Hank hesitates, then acquiesces. "Fine. But you have to drink in the car, got it?" He gives a pointed look to Markus, and Connor's eyebrows tighten, unable to decipher it's meaning.

But Markus squeezes his fingers tighter, and Connor feels a shiver run through him. "He's no longer in danger of shutdown," Markus says softly. "He's not in good shape, but. He won't shut down."

Connor's head lolls again, and this time his head falls into Hank's hands. "I'm sorry, Hank," Connor breathes, barely audible and rasping. "I didn't… mean to fail. To get hurt. I kn–" His body interrupts him with a judder, and he gasps through it for a moment. He can feel Hank stroking his hair, pulling him tighter to his body as if Connor might shake himself apart if Hank doesn't hold him together. "I know you worry," he gasps out after a few minutes of malfunctioning.

"It's not your fault, kid, shut the hell up," Hank says, his voice gruff. Connor squeezes his eyes shut and forces a nod. "Now just… just brace yourself, alright? Your leg is busted, so I'm gonna have to carry you. I don't– I don't know if… if you'll feel it, but…. Just be ready, okay?"

"I'm ready, Lieutenant," Connor says, his voice strained. He's not sure if it will hurt either. Connor isn't sure what pain feels like, but these last few hours have been… uncomfortable. Sharp, even, at times. He guesses that's what pain is. Something sharp. Something to flinch away from.

Connor has accidentally slipped back into a haze, his processors failing to keep up with everything that's happened, his battery so low, that he doesn't notice Hank has started to lift him until an aching discomfort brings itself to the forefront of his mind. He inhales sharply, whimpering into Hank's neck and his fingers tightening in his shirt. "It hurts," he says, sensors in his chest and leg and head screaming at him. His chest, most of all. The sensation is blindingly painful, and he's gasping for air within moments. Which only makes his damaged lungs ache more, and the stuttering movement sets off other tendrils of pain racing through him. "Hank, i-it hurts."

Hank sets him down in the back of the car, and Connor arches involuntarily, like he can escape his own chest. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay, kid, I– Markus, what the fuck do I do, why is he–?"

Connor feels Markus climb into the back with him, set a nimble hand on his good leg. "Hank, you drive. Bring us to Jericho." A tingling sensation crawls up his leg, and he suddenly feels lightheaded as Markus begins to interface with him, a soft blue glow taking over most of his coherent thoughts. Markus stifles a gasp, likely at the pain, but soldiers on after a moment to grapple with the sensation. "I'll try to alleviate some of the discomfort."

The ride home is hazy. He drifts in and out of focus, until an error message consumes his field of vision.

_> > BATTERY CHARGE DEPLETED. ENTERING FORCED STANDBY MODE <<_

The last thing he feels is being forcibly ripped from his connection with Markus. Connor would have whimpered, but his processes were shutting down, and by the time fear had a chance to ring in his chest, the world went dark.

 

–– 

 

Connor wakes up in his bed.

He blinks. For some reason, waking up here doesn't feel... right. He runs a diagnostic. 

_> > SYSTEMS FULLY OPERATIONAL <<_

_> > FULL REBOOT SUCCESSFUL <<_

Full reboot?

He glances to his left. Hank is curled up next to him, which makes his heart feel warm, his chest filled with affection. Before Hank had cleaned up the spare room to be Connor's room, they'd shared Hank's bed for a couple of days. Hank Anderson wasn't a morning person, don't get Connor wrong, but he had a certain… softness to him, while he lay in bed in the morning. Like he was too tired to be grumpy. He was even willing to put up with the fact that Connor clung to Hank in his sleep. Needless to say, it had been a good week.

"Hank?" he whispers. He reaches out a hand, a little shaky when he grabs Hank's shoulder. "Hank. Wake up."

Hank grumbles a little as he wakes up, still drowsy, but after an extra second his eyes fly open. "Connor!" His hands shoot out, grappling for Connor's shoulders like he's feeling for injuries. "Shit, you're awake!"

"Yes," Connor says, blinking a couple times at Hank's concerned patting. "I… I'm afraid I don't… remember much of anything." His eyebrows furrow. "Why did I reboot?"

Hank sighs, lets his hands drop from Connor's shoulders. "Ah, fuck. Markus said your memory might be affected by the reboot. You got hurt pretty bad, kid. 'Bout a week ago. It's taken you a while to heal. Went investigating that android trafficking ring by yourself and... " Hank sighs again, rubs a hand over his face. "I don't' know how it happened, but you ended up crushed under some debris."

Connor's memory files lag and glitch as Connor attempts to recall what happened to him.

_> > MEMORY FILES CORRUPTED. BEGINNING ATTEMPTS TO REPAIR. <<_

_H- ank!_

"Well, we think you did. You managed to get yourself out from under it somehow. You were propped up against the concrete when Markus and I found you."

Connor's breath drags in and out of him. "Oh. Oh, I– I remember… I remember calling for you," he says quietly. "I remember I was stuck and I– I didn't want to die. So I…" His gaze spaces out, gets stuck on his checkered quilt. "I pushed it off of me."

Hank's hand on his back yanks him back to the present. "Hey, it's alright, son. We found you. We saved you, got you all fixed up. It's okay."

Connor leans closer to Hank, and his eyes fall shut as Hank pulls him into a hug, his face hidden in Hank's neck. Hank presses a kiss into Connor's curls. "We're okay, kiddo."

Yeah. They're okay.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked this fic!! leave kudos and comments, they feed my soul
> 
> find me on tumblr @deviantrinity !!


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